rightly but not heavy. And
yet his mariner's sense sniffed something untoward.

The _Dobson_, little topmast hooker, age-worn and long before
relegated to the use of Sunday fishing-parties "down the bay," had
for barometer only a broken affair that had been issued to advertise
the virtues of a certain baking-powder. It was roiled permanently
to the degree marked "Tornado."

"Yes," remarked Hiram, nestling down once more under the bulwark,
after viewing the display of amateur activity, "of course, if you're
afraid to tackle a little deep water once more, just for the sake
of an outin', then I've no more to say. I've heard of railro'd
engineers and sea-capt'ns losin' their nerve. I didn't know but it
had happened to you."

"Well, it ain't," snapped the Cap'n, indignantly. And yet his sailor
instinct scented menace. He couldn't explain it to that cynical old
circus-man, intent on a day's outing. Had it not been for Hiram's
presence and his taunt, Cap'n Sproul would have promptly turned tail
to the Atlantic and taken his safe and certain way along the reaches
and under shelter of the islands. But reflecting that Hiram Look,
back in Smyrna, might circulate good-natured derogation of his
mariner's courage, Cap'n Sproul set the _Dobson's_ blunt nose to the
heave of the sea, and would not have quailed before a tidal wave.

The Smyrna contingent hailed this adventuring into greater depths
as a guarantee of bigger fish for the salt-barrel at home, and
proceeded to cut bait with vigor and pleased anticipation.

Only the Cap'n was saturnine, and even lost his interest in the
animated figures on distant Cod Lead Nubble, though Hiram could not
drag his eyes from them, seeing in their frantic gestures the
denouement of his plot.

Shortly after noon they were well out to sea, still on the port tack,
the swells swinging underneath in a way that soothed the men of Smyrna
rather than worried them. So steady was the lift and sweep of the
long roll that they gave over fishing and snored wholesomely in the
sun on deck. Hiram dozed over his cigar, having paid zestful
attention to the dinner that Jackson Denslow had spread in the
galley.

Only Cap'n Sproul, at the wheel, was alert and awake. With some
misgivings he noted that the trawl fishers were skimming toward port
in their Hampton boats. A number of smackmen followed these. Later
he saw several deeply laden Scotiamen lumbering past on the starboard
tack, all apparently intent on